Monster
by Rosaliebyrd13
Summary: He thinks he is the monster. But the marrow in his bones tastes sweet and you are as old as time. ONE SHOT read and review. Bella is evil and Edward will never know.


**Song: Vampire Smile - Kyla la Grange**

FIRST:

He thinks _he_ is the monster. It almost makes you laugh, that word.

_Monster_. monstermonstermonstermonster

Laugh.

Until you remember that shy sweet teenage girls do not laugh when they learn they are in love with monsters.

(You have never been shy.

Sweet is relative. To you it is _sweet _to keep them alive while you peel away their sinews and split their bones just a little _a slow creaking and a snap, like the spine of a new book_

stick your tongue into the cracks, lightly, _sweetly_, and lick out the marrow. _You wonder if it tickles them inside, wonder if that's why they scream so. _

Fear is delicious.

Sweet is relative)

He thinks _he_ is the monster.

"Bella I am a monster," You swallow back a giggle. _Look serious now, stick to the story line_, "Bella I've killed people."

_So have I, _

The words are silent, you never say them. Because he feels so guilty when he says that he has killed and that is such a beautiful emotion (and you don't want to change that, don't want to make him feel less of anything)

Guilt. _Ummmmm Delicious_

He looks tortured. And it is too perfect; his emotions are mixing for the _perfect _storm, chaos, winds howling, destruction.

Oh, and he is in love, not the _nice_ kind of love but the bloody lusty love that drives your being.

You can see it now. He will destroy his family for you.

_Perfect._

It's not quite enough, to destroy just a family, but it will have to do

_just a snack really_.

Second:

"Everything about me invites you in!"

You watch this funny deformity of evolution and you want to smile, pat him on the head like the little boy that he is.

_You also want his granite flesh between your teeth, you can just imagine the grating sound, the sweet spicy flavor of people who think that they are immortals but are really just ants. _

_Three day lifespan, like a butterfly._

He is built to hunt, to stalk in the night, creep around shadows and then strike when his prey is most vulnerable.

You are meant to control. You thrive on the sadness on the confusion, on the love and hate and _delicious fear_

Sometimes you think that humans (pathetic, small, beautiful, but much to tame for your liking) might have gotten something right when they spoke about merciless gods and heathen powers.

Bacchus, God of the wine, half crazed with lust and laughter, half mad with blood thirst and pain. He must have been your father. _The fact that you must have sprung from his loins explains why sometimes in the night you look into the moon and howl, let your wildness loose. It explains why you party for days on end, dancing and getting drunk and destroying._

Eris, she was chaos. And you suckled from her teat didn't you? All those many millennia before? Isn't this why even now, even when you are as old as the universe and as young as a babe you must feast on the wild abandon and cruelty and creativity of the people?

_Cattle, all of them._

"Everything about me invites you in!" His voice is the voice of a very small child who thinks it is wise, "I am the perfect predator!" You laugh. "You can't out run me! I am far stronger than you could ever dream!"

He is right, in these words. He runs faster than any other creature, and he is far stronger than you will ever be, even if you feasted on sadness for the lifetime of a thousand suns.

But you don't need strength, or speed. Your gifts are more designed for your needs.

He _needs_ to outrun things so that he can eat, he _needs_ to be strong enough to take them down for the blood in their veins. That is what he needs.

_You_ _need_ to be beautiful but plain, commanding but unassuming, cruel but kind. _You_ _need_ the knowledge of what has happened and what will come, and _you need_ patience like a glacier. _A thousand years building up to one fantastic event that you will gorge yourself on for only moments. _

Really though the meal is not the part that you crave.

You crave the events leading up to your meal.

_Months of agony, of fighting, of a love for a human girl that his family cannot abide by. Rifts form, and they taste creamy against your taste buds. Tears of venom are shed and they are delicate but crunchy, break into tiny glass shards on your tongue. _

You don't need to munch on their fingers, lick the thick blood and venom from around their hearts, but it will be wonderful to do so.

He is faster than you, and stronger. Which means that the dance is more fun.

Last: 

The blonde vampire is correct. You will destroy her family.

Eventually.

It will take centuries, but matured wine tastes the fullest.

She is thinking that it will happen within days, that within hours her family will be brought to their knees.

Laugh.

In days, it is not wine, it is just vinegar.

Edward argues for you, and you can see that he has already begun the dance.

He is already caught in your web.

Later, much later, he will try to escape, try to free his family. (Not from you, he will try to free you as well from the sinister forces he will assume are working against him.)

But he will never succeed.

He is caught now, and will remain so.

And his last words will be your name, as you lick the marrow from the cracks in his bones. _Sweetly._

Perhaps it will tickle.


End file.
